


The 'Not-Corpse'

by Unbestaendig



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (Graphic) Descriptions of Injuries & Blood, Abduction, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Other, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unbestaendig/pseuds/Unbestaendig
Summary: "Well then," Sherlock said, hinting at the corpse of the young woman on the tablewith an unaffected look, "begin the autopsy, Molly."Molly nodded uncomfortably and thereat moved to make the first incision.Silver met red and silence met scream.First the corpse's and almost simultaneously Molly's in return...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: English is not my first language. I do not own Sherlock (BBC).
> 
>    
> If you like to know what I have been listening to while I wrote this:
> 
> I blinked and the world was gone by Snow Ghosts
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMhfJS8HBKM .
> 
>    
> I really hope, with all my heart, you enjoy reading this fanfiction as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
>    
> Sherlock Characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (, Steven Moffat, Mark Gattis and BBC)

_"Well then," Sherlock said, hinting at the corpse of the young woman on the table with an unaffected look, "begin the autopsy, Molly."_  
_Molly nodded uncomfortably and thereat moved to make the first incision._  
_Silver met red and silence met scream._  
_First the corpse's and almost simultaneously Molly's in return._  
_"The corpse isn't a corpse," stated Sherlock calmly, while the 'not-corpse' was trying to process being alive. She was so unhinged, that she almost fell of the table if it hadn't been for John's presence of mind, grabbing the cerecloth as well as her. Covering her shaking body, the Doctor tried to calm her. But wide open eyes couldn't find hold on his words, fear in every arduous breath. Her fingers, clinging trembling to his pullover, white as the cloth._  
  
You found yourself in the middle of senses all screaming at you.  
Everything exaggerated to the point where it hurt.  
Somehow noises with shape made their way into your head.  
"You are safe."  
Words, something told you.  
At first there were of no meaning to you, unsure, where they came from.  
"You are safe now."  
  
They came from your ears... No... You heard them with your ears.  
Humans said words.  
Who?  
Pressure around you, at your...skin.  
Something... Someone holding you.  
Gentle...no strong... Both...  
"You are safe."  
Another moment passed until you realized the hands you were seeing were your own, buried in the fabric of a pullover...  
The pullover of the one holding you.  
"Molly I need a lamp and a first aid kit...please."  
The chest under your hands vibrated with the words...the voice. A nice voice...  
  
Molly, who had fallen to the floor in shock, rose.  
Sherlock just stood by, calculating, analysing.  
  
A hand took both of yours, another moved you, so you looked at...him. A man... Warm eyes looking at you with learned distance.  
"Hey..." A short smile as your eyes held the gaze. "Can you...remember what happened?"  
What happened...  
What had happened...before this...  
Before what...  
He waited for an answer, while you felt your pulse through his hands, but you didn't have one.

  
"It's alright if you can't remember yet," he assured you.  
A woman, worried face, stepped next to him and he turned to accept a pen from her.

"Would you mind looking into the light for me for a moment?" He questioned holding up the pen.  
You didn't know what else to do.

He pressed the back of the pen, causing you momentary blindness. It was over soon and so was whatever he was doing.  
He put the...lamp away and subsequently placed your hands in your lap.  
"I will take care of your wound now, ok?" he asked, opening a box, the one named Molly must have brought.  
He put on translucent hands...gloves. Picked up a bottle and a some...gauze.  
"Bear with me, this might hurt," he warned before attending something underneath your collarbone that hurt as he touched it...the wound.

  
"...I won't have to stitch it," he declared relieved, after some time of dabbing something stinging to the wound.  
"I'm so sorry," Molly said with choked voice.  
"You couldn't know, Molly," the man comforted her, retrieving someting wrapped in white paper from the box. Looking at you again, he explained, "I am just going to place some wound closure strips over the wound..."  
He did that, then added another bigger bandaid on top.

"All done... I hope the pain wasn't too bad?... Do you feel pain anywhere else... Are you feeling dizzy? ...Nauseous?"  
You shook your head three times.  
"Good...that's good."  
"Good? What about this is good, John?" a deep voice revolted, and you turned your head in confusion, to meet likewise confused eyes. Another Man, taller, colder, darker.  
"Dead, now not dead... Doesn't make any sense."  
"Sherlock," John chided him with urgency.  
"John." Sherlock stepped closer, sniffed, numbers and words in his eyes, all over you.  
"Do you remember how you came to be dead?" he questioned.  
John gave him a warning look. "Sherlock-"  
"Do you remember taking a drug, medicince, being drugged, being given medicine?"  
"Sherlock!"  
"Good god, I can't be the only one dying to know what is going on here!...No pun intended... Molly stop crying!"  
Molly tried.  
"John what are you waiting for? Do the doctor thing! Do a blood test!"  
John ignored him and adressed you again, "Can you tell me your name?"  
You shook your head.  
"Do you know what year we have?"  
Again you denied.  
"Can you touch your nose for me? Like that," he asked, bringing his index finger to his nose.  
You tried to immitate him, but needed some time to figure out how to move your hand to do what you wanted, and another till you found your nose.  
Again this short smile.  
He held up his hand, keeping two fingers to his palm.  
"How many fingers do I show you?"  
Something tells you the answer is, "...Three." So that was how they made those noises...voices.

You had a voice. John seemed happy to hear your voice.  
"Good, now...just follow my finger with your eyes please." He said, thereat only showing one finger, which he moved around in front of you. This task was at least easy.  
"How about a blood test now?" Sherlock queried mildly unnerved.  
John sighed. "Molly can you get me the necessary equipment please?"  
"S-sure," Molly nodded and left from your view.

  
Some clatter, some rustling, then she was back.  
John took what she gave him and set it down next to you. You watched, as he prepared some things, when your mind identified one of them as a syringe.  
Fear was so suddenly in your mind you screamed, making John jolt. Reading your expression, he quickly put the syringe thing down, to hinder you from falling of the table - you hadn't really been aware of until now, and didn't really care for trying to escape his hands.  
"Nothing to fear. I won't hurt-"  
"Oh don't lie, John, you will hurt her. Although you just have possibly confirmed the not-corpse has had unpleasant experience with a syringe, the not-corpse might still just be terribly afraid of needles. And we still need to know what was in the syringe if hypothesis one is true," Sherlock interrupted him, impatient.  
John sighed again.  
"No..." you uttered, feeling his decision in his grip at your arms.  
"If you want this blood test you will have to hold her," John declared.  
Sherlock seemed uncomfortable with the idea but approached and took hold of you instead.  
"No..." you pleaded once more, the reason of your behavior unknown to you.  
"Calm down," Sherlock told you. "Yes, I said he would hurt you, but he won't do it to hurt you."  
"Not helping, Sherlock..." commented John, who was tying some band firmly around your upper arm.  
"Let me try again. He will hurt you, but it will hurt only for a second and not much."  
"A second..." you repeated neither questioning, nor stating, watching John disinfecting the crook of your arm. Someome else's voice, many voices, the same words.  
"Has someone else said that to you recently?" Sherlock asked  
You nodded, he nodded.  
"Be sure we don't have the same intentions as them," Sherlock assured you somewhat soothing and turned your head to him.  
Thereat, a sting in the crook of your arm accompanied by a mumbled 'sorry' from John.  
Somehow you awaited darkness, though there was none but the deep shadows cast by the brightly illuminated thoughts of the man holding your chin.

  
He had scared you at first, however Sherlock was like the cold, eventually it calmed you.  
Driven by somehing beyond your thoughts, you moved slightly so your head came to rest at his chest.  
"John...did she faint?" Sherlock asked in helpless surprise.

"No, she seeks comfort..." John explained.  
"With me?"  
"With you, obviously. You seem to calm her."  
Sherlock apparently needed a moment to contemplate about that, because no cynical response left his mouth.

After some time the pressure on your upper arm was released and replaced by pressure at the crook of your arm.  
"He is done," Sherlock let you know, possibly meaning it as a sign for you to sheer off from him, and you did, reluctantly.  
"Molly, let's do the thing," he ordered immediately. Then turning to John he added, "We'll be back in an hour or so."  
John sighed, "I hoped Molly could stay and search her for pinpricks again."  
"I think you are _absolutely_ qualified to do that," Sherlock stated, not getting his point, and left with Molly in tow, who was smiling apologetically. Arguing with Sherlock was forlorn.

"Would you give me your hands?" John asked as the door fell shut.  
You did, and he looked between your fingers - nothing. Next between your toes, behind your ears, at the base of your skull, under your arms, and found nothing. All other areas were so obvious Molly would already have checked them twice, he told you.

Long before an hour was over, Sherlock was back. "John!" he screamed, and the door flew open.  
"You won't believe-" he stopped, rushed towars you and took your face in his hands.  
"Who are you? No. What are you?"  
"Sherlock...?" John inquired.  
"Shhh!"  
Sherlock's eyes encouraged you to you to answer him, but you couldn't. As he realized that, he groaned, letting go of your face.  
"Sherlock, would you tell me what's going on please?" John questioned unnerved.  
"Her blood isn't normal. Human of course...but not human."  
"Sherlock."  
"According to her blood, she is practically immortal... "  
"What...oh don't you dare-"  
"Although, I myself feel like I'm stuck in an The X Files episode, I'm not making fun of you."  
"So what? She is a...vampire? ...An Alien?"  
Sherlock looked at John in disbelieve. "Now you're making fun of yourself... Of course not! ...I, we are guessing, she is some sort of experiment-"  
"Experiment Amaranthine... Never ending cell renewal," you suddenly interrupted him. The words came as a surprise to you, then as the memories came back, you screamed.

"What the hell is going on here?!" you heard Sherlock scream in response and felt John's arms wrap around you.

 

Pictures flashed before your eyes, white pictures, white figures, silver pain, days without light, food without taste, eyes, so many eyes... Experiment Amaranthine... You were Amaranthine...888. The 888th try, to create an immortal human... Raised from test tubes...You were 372 years old... You had escaped...you had escaped, you had escaped! Yes... You had died...

It was the off switch they had implanted in you, flicked as a last resort, when they couldn't catch you.  
It was what you had hoped for, waiting in a river, watching the wind carry the clouds.

Your dead body would be carried away as well by the water, the search of your persecutors prolonged, and bringing you back impossible.  
However...somehow...the off switch hadn't worked...and now you were here...alive.

They would come for you... Death had been your only escape.  
"Did you have a flashback?" John asked gently as you suddenly quieted down.  
"I need to die."  
"What?"  
"She said she needs to die, John, but Miss you are not going to die until I know what Experiment Amaranthine is."  
"She is not going to die, Sher-"  
"I am."  
"Dying?" both men exclaimed simultaneously.  
"No, Amaranthine," you disclosed and thereon, as short as possible, told them about the experiment and your current situation.  
When you were done, there were two open mouths, John's, and Molly's, who had entered at some part of your tale. Sherlock's mouth was closed, his brows puckered.  
"How long?" he asked, calculating.  
"There is no escape."  
"How long?"  
"Minutes now, maybe. It's pure luck they aren't already here."  
"They need to be discrete."  
"Yes."  
"John, call Mycroft."  
You shook your head, no call to whomever was going to safe you. "Sherlock-"  
"Shh. Hold out your little finger."  
You looked at him bewildered.  
"Didn't you find my presence calming? That must mean I'm trustworthy, right?"  
You sighed, somewhat admitting your strange trust in him. A feeling you, in 372 years, had only known from explanations.

Thereat you held out your little finger as he had asked, and he wrapped his around yours.  
"I promise you won't have to die to escape."  
You were somehow happy he could believe this lie.  
"Sherlock?"  
"Hm?"  
"Can you hold me again, please?"  
The face he made at that, and the melodramatic feel your request had, made you chuckle. "As you said it calms me," you added.  
"John, what about Mycroft?" he inquired, fixating you with his eyes.  
"He is on his way," John said, putting away his phone.  
Sherlock nodded and looked quickly at his watch.  
"I guess I could spare a minute to hug you then, Miss Amaranthine," he declared and did so.

"Thank you," you mumbled against the fabric covering his chest. Not white, no smell of antiseptic.

"Molly," your heard John ask really quietly. "Am I in any way upsetting?...I mean not calming? I mean-"  
"You mean why she doesn't trust you..." Molly finished his sentence. "You're a doctor. That's why."  
"Oh...that makes, that makes se-"  
John made a choked noise and so did Molly. Alarmed, Sherlock turned halfway to them and by that cleared the view to the door, where Molly and John sunk down in the arms of two janitors, silver pens in their gloved hands; OPFs, one-prick-forgets, as they jokingly called the devices, with the lying mouths of their faces you knew so well.

 

Their bodies too steeled, their movements too fluent, to be those of simple janitiors, but no one would have noticed. They played mascquerad well if it was neccessary. They did whatever was neccessary, in the least attention-getting way, the most effecient way.  
The drug of the OPFs would leave no traces, the pinpricks covered by tiny bandaid like pieces of cultured, adhesive skin.  
No memories left behind, no mercy, no hesistation.

Still holding onto Sherlock, your grip tightened, as a third janitor entered.

A butcher in disguise. Even if you didn't know his face, the cold in his gaze, upon you and Sherlock, would have istantly given him away. A bloodhound of the doctors, just like the other two.

All three came towards you now, three fresh doses of oblivion already in their hands.

 

While Sherlock seemed to analyse the situation, you wondered if you should let him go, despite the fact that he couldn't win, give him the chance to fight...  
No...you couldn't see him get hurt. So you pulled him towards you. There was no time for him, for neither a word or move of protest. Six hands joined yours and the drug Sherlock's bloodstream.  
His consience fighting, he sunk against you, a 'why' on his lips, that wouldn't leave them.  
"It was my turn to calm you," you whispered as Sherlock's eyes closed. Then you awaited the conditioned word that would make yours close.  
"Fillemot," said a bloodhound and you lost consciousness.  
  
_"Sir, can you hear me? Sir-"_  
_The first thing Sherlock saw was the face of a paramedic, the second that of his brother._  
_"Mycroft? What happend?"_  
_"There was a gas leak. Luckily, three janitors found you, John and Molly in time."_  
_"Why are you here?"_  
_"Well, the last thing I remember is my morning tea. Next, I wake up in an ambulance, where they tell me I had a car crash. Don't worry, nothing too serious, no injuries but a nasty concussion. Anyway, before I can even tell them to let me go, my phone rings, and I get informed that my brother fell victim to a gas leak. Whereat I made them drive me here at once, of course."_  
_"There are holes in my memory, Mycroft."_  
_Mycroft stiffened for reasons only known to him, but kept his facade well._

 _"Brother dear... They say that can happen in some cases."_  
_"Was I on a case?"_  
_"I don't know. You tell me."_  
_"Can't."_  
_"Oh Sherlock, don't force it. You will end up telling me confabulations," said Mycroft petting his shoulder._  
_Sherlock stared to the ground._

_Later he punctured John's and Molly's patience with questions that they couldn't answer._

_Which was why, John ended up mixing a sleeping pill into Sherlock's supper._

_And the next morning a new case took all of Sherlock concentration._  
  
_When he and his partner left their flat for investigation, they passed by a flowerstore._

 _Sherlock suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Surprised, John did as well._  
_"John, what's the colour of those flower over there?" Sherlock questioned without tone or expression._  
_John eyed him with confusion, then sighed."Deep...red...no purple...red"_  
_"...Deep purple-red," Sherlock answered his own question, "also known as Amaranthine."_

 


End file.
